


sing through my lips, oh muse

by smalljean



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Happy Ending, M/M, Viktuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:09:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalljean/pseuds/smalljean
Summary: Apollo, god of music, lost the inspiration that brought music to the Earth. Yuuri, a renowned musician who always worshiped Apollo, lost his way after a disastrous performance. As soon as Apollo heard Yuuri play, though, he knew what he needed to do: to go to Earth as a mortal named Victor and convince Yuuri to be his muse. But in finding a muse, Victor also found love—and love between a god and a mortal can be a dangerous thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A work for the Viktuuri Big Bang 2017.
> 
> Art throughout is by [wheniseelevimyheartgoesdokidoki](http://wheniseelevimyheartgoesdokidoki.tumblr.com/). Thank you, Mikoto, for your inspiration, for your kind spirit, and for your infinite patience with me these past few months as I've been sick and unresponsive. Thank you most of all for sharing your incredible talent through these works and inspiring me to write for the first time, for this fandom that we both love.
> 
> View her compiled works for this bang [on her tumblr!](http://wheniseelevimyheartgoesdokidoki.tumblr.com/)

Sometimes, in his dreams, Yuuri would hear a song. It came after those days spent from sunup to sundown in the old storage space he’d turned into a practice room, the one with a rusty mirror giving him a blurry reflection to stare back at.

On those days, he played and played, and what would start in the morning as idle, flowing melodies became laborious, pained notes plucked out with blistered fingers. By the time the sun set, part of Yuuri would want to cry and give up. Enough failed attempts at playing even the most basic melodies would have convinced that part of himself that he’d certainly make an absolute fool of himself in front of whichever king he was practicing to perform for. “Make them want you,” he’d hear in Minako’s bold voice, and the thought would be laughable, because having stared at his reflection for hours as he struggled to play, he couldn’t have imagined a less desireable sight.

That was one part of Yuuri—but another smaller, more dangerous part of Yuuri wouldn’t have been satisfied with that. That part of Yuuri would have wanted to throw his lyre across the room, watching it crack into ruin, because he hates this. As much as he lacked confidence in himself, he knew—some part of him knew—that he couldn’t be the worst. That he had to have some musical talent, because he would not have kings and queens as his audience if he was the worst. That part of him knew that he would spend a day paralyzed with fear and self-loathing before a performance, only to laugh the next day at how overblown his day-long fretting was.

And he hated it—that knowing, in some rational part of his mind, that he could do it, that he was good at it, and yet knowing that the rest of his mind would just...ignore it. Not care. Would look at the evidence and tell him that this time would be different, that he was lucky to succeed those past times but this time it would finally all come crashing horribly down.

On those nights, after he would set down his lyre and spend hours crying angry tears and hours crying hopeless ones, Yuuri would have well and truly exhausted himself. On those nights, when the tears would stop coming hot and urgent and he would be left lying in bed, mumbling prayers to Apollo to please, help him, he would drift off to sleep. And as his mind finally settled to rest, a song would weave itself among his thoughts, soothing them until it ushered in the quietest of dreams. An orchestral song, lush with strings and a powerful voice. Sweet and lonely, yearning.

Waking up the next morning, a few fragments of the song would linger. He would hum them as he prepared to leave for his performance, calmly gathering his lyre and getting into the chariot.

  


* * *

  


“This one again? Really, Apollo?”

Victor looked up from the pond he was concentrating on to see Chris, lounging naked on a bed of leaves and watching him bemusedly.

“I happen to rather like this one.”

“Yes, but this one for two centuries? Those poor mortals down on Earth, it’s no wonder so many of them are giving up on music and coming to me.”

Victor didn’t have much to say to that, because Chris wasn’t wrong. When mortals worshiped the god Dionysus, he was always game to join them, downing the wine they left as offerings and sharing, in return, that joyous freedom of having drunk it. The nights of sacrifice and adulation to their favored god would turn to nights of dancing and singing and sex, and Chris would be right there with them.

Victor could remember a time when he was the same way, embracing his connection to the mortal world and his role in granting the mortals the powerful emotions aroused when listening to music. Chris could remember those times, too, though he had enough tact not to bring it up. But they still had the memories—of when Victor was delighted by the music in every tree and cloud and star, and the world was delighted by him. He found music in unexpected places, and in return, he’d share that joy of the spontaneous temporality of music. It was never something he could feign for the mortals’ sake; to surprise others, he needed to surprise himself, and with each passing day, he became less and less sure of his ability to do that.

He couldn’t find the music as easily in the earth and water and sky as he once did, certainly not as easily as he once found it in the fingers and hungry soul and determined eyes of a young mortal. Centuries had passed since that mortal had inspired him so, and with that loss was the loss of his own inspiration. So he found himself working on the same composition over and over again, one he had started right after the loneliness began.

It sufficed, giving the mortals just enough inspiration in turn for their quiet humming as they washed clothes or for the tiniest patriotic stirrings at a national song. But it hardly surprised them anymore. After eternities of giving music to the Earth, he knew several things—that excitement is better than perfection; that beauty stems from passion; and that the best music is not created alone.

Victor knew these things. But he also knew that he was tired. Tired of trying, and tired of the loneliness.

He stared blankly off into the distance, fingers idly strumming along to the melody that he had been playing for centuries. His gaze dulled as he nearly perfunctorily went through the motions, until Chris coughed, startling Victor back into remembering his presence.

“Victor. Come to Earth with me. I have something to show you, sometime I found last time I was down there.” Chris extended a hand towards Victor, his naked body practically gleaming and a matching glint in his eyes.

Victor gave him a small smile, but turned back down to his lyre, still strumming slowly. Whatever Chris had found was likely nothing worthwhile. Victor had accompanied Chris to plenty of his Dionysian revels, in an era when music and bacchic celebration were inextricable. They would both give in fully to their physical forms, an experience like no other—drinking, and dancing, and bedding everyone in sight. The revelry was fun, for an evening, and a few centuries ago, he enjoyed it, returning to the heavens with Chris to laugh and exalt over the adventures they’d had in the mortal realm. But since the loneliness, whenever he returned to the heavens, he felt a little emptier. He would feel ghost hands running over his body, remembering the rush of alcohol coursing through his veins, and rather than providing a pleasant reminiscence, it was simply lonely.

He must have stayed silent for too long, because Chris was suddenly by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Victor. I know what you’re thinking—but this is different. I promise—please.”

Other gods looked at Chris and saw only the naked hedon, assumed he was only ever concerned for his fleeting, personal pleasures. Victor knew better; he heard the sincerity in Chris’s voice, and he nodded.

Chris took his hand and brought him to a streamside base of a stout hill. The day was chilly and grey, and standing in stark contrast to the dim surroundings was a mortal woman—young, and cloaked in heavy furs, humming to herself while collecting herbs growing on the banks of the frozen stream.

Victor turned to Chris doubtfully, but Chris hushed him, guiding him into a thicket of shrubs behind which they disappeared, watching.

  
  


The sound of footsteps came from up the hill, and when the young woman heard them, she turned, startled. She was close to shouting at the approaching figure, when he emerged from behind the trees, face coming into view. She gasped, dropping her herbs and rushing up to hug him.

“Yuuri!” she exclaimed as she nearly jumped onto the startled, but not unappreciative, man. He caught his balance and his bearings, and then returned the embrace, a small smile growing on his face.

“It’s been a while, Yuuko-san,” he said softly.

She pulled away, a joyously incredulous look on her face. “Yuuri-kun, please! Call me Yu-chan! Heavens, I haven’t seen you in so long, it’s been years! Ever since you went off and started playing for royalty, and…”

She trailed off when she saw Yuuri flushing and looking down at his feet. They stood in silence, until he mumbled, “I think I’m going to be home for a while.”

Yuuko didn’t press. She instead motioned for him to come sit on a log with her. As they sat, she noticed the instrument strapped to his back, and smiled. “Yuuri-kun, I can’t imagine ever seeing you without that,” she said, rubbing his arm consolingly. “No matter what happens, I know you’ll always love music more than anything.”

He turned towards her with sudden nervousness on his face. “That’s actually...Yu-chan, I have something I want you to hear.”

  
  


With that, he took a deep breath, and turned serious. He unstrapped the lyre from his back and pulled it into his arms, letting it settle almost preternaturally. He stared down at the wooden instrument, feeling Yuuko’s intense, eager eyes on him, and he suddenly wished he had never said anything. But this was Yu-chan, this was their stream. This was where they had come as kids, a special place just for them. Yuuri would sit by the stream and play his small lyre, not nearly good enough yet to be self-conscious about mistakes. He would simply play, and Yuuko would sing with her equally imperfect and equally beautiful voice.

They were so happy to be together, to simply be alive, and to be making music. They heard it in the rocks and water and trees, and even as their families had their patron gods to worship—the Katsuki family had long worshipped the god of hospitality, and Yuuko was raised praising the goddess of fertility—they played for Apollo, thanking him for giving them music. They liked to imagine that Apollo had carved out this spot just for them—a clearing wide enough to sit peacefully, right near the stream and rocks and trees that changed their music so dramatically with each season. They liked to imagine that he picked this perfect spot for them, a spot just on the other side of the hill from their village and yet a spot that felt like their own corner of the world.

For Yuuri, the clearing was safe. It was home. And if he could never go anywhere else—if he would never be able to show his face in a royal court or temple again—he would always have this tiny corner of the Earth. Just him and Yuuko and, ensconcing them like a warm blanket, Apollo’s blessings.

So Yuuri took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and listened for the music. It was faint, but he could hear it—a faint ringing from the sky, a slightly more solid tone from the earth, soft notes bubbling under the water’s frozen surface. The music was hardly as powerful as the music that surrounded them when they were young, but it didn’t matter—it was enough. He breathed it into his body, grounding himself in its solidity, and started playing.

His song began simply, with just a few quiet chords. Then a line of notes flowed in, and then another line came as its counterpoint, until there was a complex web of layers weaving in and out of each other; all the while, a distinct melody floated atop. It was a feat of incredible composition and masterful playing, and yet it seemed effortless. The song quickly picked up in intensity and difficulty after only a few measures, but Yuuri only smiled.

Victor gasped, and the gasp brought him back to himself. He wasn’t sure when he lost track of himself and when he slid into the mind of the man playing so beautifully in front of him. He wasn’t sure when he drifted away from his physical form and started feeling more alive through this man, this Yuuri, than he’d long felt through himself. And he wasn’t sure when Chris had disappeared from beside him. But it hardly mattered. All he wanted in that moment was to stay and never take his eyes away.

  
  


Because Yuuri was playing his song. It was the song that Victor had been playing for centuries, but in Yuuri’s hands, it became new. He’d made it complex in its simplicity. Where Victor conjured an orchestra of strings and a choir of voices at will to fill his music, Yuuri had somehow put them all together, channeling the power of hundreds of voices and instruments with just his one lyre. It was a testament to Yuuri’s skill and precision as a musician that Victor could still hear all the individual layers of his song perfectly, without the whole thing disintegrating into disaster. This was the opposite of disaster—it was a revelation.

Victor knew this song as he knew himself. It had become a part of him, and it started to feel like a part of himself he regretted, one succumbing to loneliness and passionlessness. And so too, in Yuuri’s song, could Victor hear that same undercurrent of longing and sadness. But it felt infused with powerful new emotions, too. Still pain, still sadness—but more. Love, hesitant but undoubtedly present. Passion, for the music itself. And, deep within the music, hope—hope that had been crushed too many times, hope that was painful to ever expose to the world, yet hope nevertheless. Raw, imperfect, and beautiful.

The melody swelled to its climax, and when it was over, there was only silence and Yuuri panting over his lyre. He gripped the instrument in slightly shaking hands, returning to himself and realizing just how thoroughly he had lost himself to the music and to the man making it.

“Yuuri-kun,” Yuuko squealed, “That was absolutely amazing! It sounded like you were possessed by Apollo himself. That music came straight from the heavens, Yuuri!”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck and starting to respond, but Victor didn’t stay for the rest of their conversation. He disappeared, returning to the heavens, but smiling all the while. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he found himself whispering, “Finally. Finally, I’ve found my muse.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a prologue of sorts, as it is much shorter than the rest of the chapters will be.
> 
> Title is an amalgamation of various translations of _The Odyssey_ 's opening lines.
> 
> This bang has an ultimate deadline of August 18; chapters will be posted roughly once weekly until then.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun hadn’t even set before Victor was running around ecstatically; his plan was sparse, but it was enough that he was too excited to worry much about its execution. It had been so long since he’d felt the stirrings of enthusiasm for anything that, suddenly overwhelmed with it, he could hardly sit still.

The only thing that held him back from jumping out of the clearing and announcing himself to Yuuri was an equally desperate desire: he wanted it all to go right. He needed only to think back to that rhythmic, layered playing to feel how much he needed this muse, this Yuuri.

And, he hoped, perhaps Yuuri needed him as well. He could hear in Yuuri’s music the same deep sadness that had recently characterized his own music, but instead of letting that deep sadness ravage the music until it was empty, Yuuri had used it to create. There was still that spark of wanting to create music, to be successful, and Yuuri had used his music to keep that spark safe, his sad melodies cradling it gently and keeping it safe, away from the world, until he had enough strength and passion to reignite his spark. Until he had a reason. Victor wanted to be that reason.

So he prepared. Excitement made the usual arduousness of preparation an exciting endeavor. He ran about, collecting everything he’d need for Yuuri’s world, and thinking through his plan. He occasionally shouted something out loud--ostensibly to Chris, but in such disconnected fragments that it hardly constituted a conversation. Chris merely sat in the corner, amused eyes following Victor’s flitting about, while he occasionally mentioned something Victor shouldn’t forget.

As he prepared, he could see Chris out of the corner of his eye. He had spent millennia with this man, all the way back to the first moment when a human brought music to a celebration. Even with most of his mind occupied by his numerous tasks, Victor wasn’t ignorant of the way Chris’s wry smile widened a bit after each of Victor’s passionate, incoherent exclamations, nor was he ignorant that at a later time, Chris would make gentle fun of him for it.

But he also recognized the less playful part of Chris’s demeanor. It showed itself in the moments Victor turned around to gather something. Chris’s smile would fade a bit, with a slight crease building in his brow. Victor caught a few of those moments, when Chris didn’t think he was looking. But worry didn’t suit Chris, and Victor hated being the cause of that worry, so when he noticed he blurted out another nonsensical non sequitur with glee, his giddy happiness rubbing off on Chris again.

He knew why Chris was worried, and in the abstract, he appreciated it. Just as he had experienced millennia of Chris, Chris had millennia of witnessing Victor’s remarkable highs and devastating lows, and he had a sense of what caused them. Knowing Chris cared was important to him, and he didn’t want to take it for granted.

But he was happy. For the first time in such a long, long time, he felt the simply joy of knowing what he wanted and being able to get it. He couldn’t stop.

Victor looked over the goods gathered in his rucksack. It was easy enough to gather anything he needed or wanted for this journey; with his sweet song and an alluring wink, he captivated any mortal from whom he might request a small item. And so he’d gathered a few simple but well-made robes from a seamstress, not wanting to stand out too much but also not being able to resist the vivid colors of a few of the garments he found. He had a few instruments, a lyre and a simple flute. Those were the essentials; the rest of his bag held things he hadn’t been able to resist bringing.

Victor loved to be beautiful. As a god, that was easy--he could be anything he wanted to be. That freedom itself, however, could be crippling. There were gods who chose each day to take on a new mortal form, trying on new mortal forms like masks and discarding them when they grew bored. There were also gods who rarely or never descended to the mortal world, and wouldn’t deign to take a human form.

Victor was certainly not the latter kind of god--he loved and needed mortals, so he needed a mortal form. In times past, when he considered himself younger, he was like the gods who never settled on a single mortal form, trying out every variation of shape and color and gender he wanted. But eventually, he realized two things.

The first thing was that he did, in fact, have preferences. Over time, he found himself most often in male forms, and even as each day he tried to come up with something new, he fell back on a few reliable looks--long, silver hair, a slender but sturdy build, fair skin. He realized, then, that it was possible to feel like he belonged in a body.

That came with the second realization: that he was far more comfortable in a mortal form than not. When he went from form to form, day to day, he eventually started feeling lost, not quite feeling right in any of them. But the scariest part, to him, was spending long periods of time without a human form at all. He drifted in the heavens with other gods, and he knew he belonged there--but he belonged there only as the God of Music. He drifted and, from time to time, went down to the mortal realm, but merely as a necessity. He did his job, he did it well, and he returned to being a god, drifting. And, slowly, he began forgetting his personality, began losing his sense of being someone, just becoming an entity of the heavens that played some part in its working.

After trying that once, he never did it again. From then on, he found himself almost exclusively taking a human form. In that form, he knew who he was, could map his unique thoughts and feelings onto a human body. He wandered the mortal world and the heavens, picking up things he liked, cultures he admired--preferences. He held them close, his personality. He even settled on a mortal name, after some time in the Russian Empire--Victor. It suited him, and made him feel whole.

Even as he was anchored by his mortal form, though, he hardly felt limited to it. Once he met Chris--another God, he found, who felt most himself in a human form--they certainly had their fun. Victor would try on hair that went past his toes, Chris would try bright pink skin, Victor would make his entire body sparkle.

He couldn’t quite bring that into the mortal world, and so in his preparations to meet Yuuri, he had toned down his human body to Victor, the mortal.

Looking through his rucksack, though, Victor smiled. He’d allowed himself, if not godly enhancements, at least mortal ones. And so he brought a decorative comb with an elaborate flower design, made of sapphire and aquamarine and topaz. Even as he was wearing his hair short, he knew he could use it to pin it up quite spectacularly. He had a pair of rings, gold ones that he loved to wear; he’d look down at his hands, and just watch them sparkle.

Victor realized he must have been silent for too long, looking through his bag, when he felt Chris’s hands on his shoulders.

“You look wonderful, Victor. You always do, of course--but wonderful now in that breakable, tragic, mortal way.”

“Dionysus, you are the only one I can imagine falling in love with someone for their tragic breakability.”

Chris gave him a wink and a devious smile, but not long after, his smile faded back to the small, sad one that Victor so hated to see. “I’m so happy to see you happy,” he began cautiously, “And the world is going to be happy too--we’ve all missed your music. But, please, be careful. Know what you’re going there to get, get it, and come back. It’ll keep you safe. Him too.”

“I know. I’ll be okay, Chris.”

With that, he disappeared, settling himself in the same clearing near the stream where he first saw Yuuri. The clearing was empty and silent, fully ensconced by darkness. He knew, by now, where to find Yuuri--in the little inn over the hill and through a patch of forest--and he could have gone there immediately. But he wanted a bit of a walk before he reached his destination; he had to think things through for at least a few minutes before he arrived.

It was early enough spring that a light dusting of snow covered the ground, but that night, the sky was clear, a bouquet of stars shining through the crisp, dusky sky. As Victor crested the hill, he saw lights flicker in the distance: a small village, it looked like, and the inn he was seeking set slightly off from the rest of the village, its own fires flickering invitingly.

Victor hummed as he walked, Chris’s words tumbling through his mind. “Know what you’re going there to get, and get it.”

It felt so cold and transactional--and not like anything Chris had ever embodied. He and Chris were drawn to one another because of how strongly they resisted treating interacting with mortals as an unfortunate necessity in fulfilling their end of a celestial exchange. Otherwise, Chris would spend his days drinking wine and having sex, then discarding the mortals immediately, taking what he wanted and needed and giving back the bare minimum.

The mortals would have noticed the difference, too. Chris and Victor often talked about the different lives the gods lead, and one tendency they noticed was that the gods that channeled emotions--the gods of love and hatred and jealousy and peace and revelry--were those who felt closer to the mortals, who felt more secure in their mortal bodies, who wanted to give the mortals more and more.

And so Chris would descend to the mortal realm for a grand festival, but it would would be more than just carnal hedonism; he would stay, celebrating, and he would feel. He witnessed the jubilation of seeing two mortals, drunk and giddy, falling in love before his eyes; there was that spark of craziness lit aflame by parties, that desire to push the boundaries of heaven and earth; and then there was a quieter sort of revelry after those festivals, when he found himself drawn, every time, to the house of a quiet man with his quiet cat, the pleasure of merely sitting with them quietly but surely exploding from his heart.

As Dionysus, this was his purpose. He felt those emotions more strongly than any mortal ever could, channeling revelry until he was nearly bursting with it. He held so much, feeling and feeling, and when he went down to the mortals, he passed that feeling onto them. Just a drop, compared to all that he felt; but for their mortal bodies, it was enough, coloring their worlds with rich emotions, intense and infinite.

And that exchange, without interacting with the mortals--it would be so empty. It was possible, and certainly for the more mortal-despising of the emotive gods it was regular, but for Chris and Victor, being with the mortals started a cycle of giving and receiving that grew into something beyond the mortals and gods; it was a violent, delightful pleasure, and they lived for it.

Or, Chris did. As he walked, Victor realized that, for so long, he had felt so empty. His making of music was obligatory but far from inspired; he played the same song over and over, hoping to feel that explosive bliss he knew was possible. But he no longer felt it, and there was less music in the world for it.

No more, he thought. He was the god of music. He could summon the music in the sky and clouds and waters, and he channeled that, through himself, into music within the mortals’ grasp. Just as Chris could never explain to a mortal what it was like to experience all the world’s passion in himself, Victor would never have been able to share with the mortals all the music he could make. But together, they shared as much joy in it as the mortals could handle.

And, Victor hoped, maybe they would do so again soon. Maybe Yuuri would be the first mortal to inspire that in millenia. His muse.

He was nearly out of the forest, the lights he had seen from afar now illuminating the inn. It was a beautiful wooden building, but one that felt slightly unusual to Victor. As he approached the building, he saw the beckoning gate and its sign telling of their natural hot-springs inside, and for the family, this building was clearly their livelihood. But it was also, Victor could see, a place where children were raised. Children, and maybe a pet, had played on the front steps, leaving permanent scuff marks on the marble. A garden had once been planted up front, probably with the help of eager little hands. The contrast was not hidden by any means. This was clearly a business, designed to accommodate strangers and make it feel like their own home, but there was also no evident desire to hide from customers the fact that this was where a family was raised.

It was lovely to think about, but also a bit intimidating; Victor suddenly worried it was presumptuous of him to simply appear at Yuuri’s house. Finally at the steps of the inn, he paused for a moment, wondering if Yuuri would welcome him or be disturbed by a stranger searching for him. But Victor put the thoughts out of his mind; hesitation didn’t suit him, so he braced himself, opening the doors into a warmly lit room.

The first thing he noticed was the smell, rich and wonderful. Broths, maybe, and noodles, along with meat and fried eggs. Victor didn’t need to eat, but he appreciated food as an art practiced by some with the same dedication he practiced music. And by the smell, this food was like the improvised music around a fire with family, with sticks and hands for percussion and improvised melodies and harmonies that sparked the most joyful laughter. It was comforting.

After taking in the smell, he took in the room. On one side, it was a dining room, with several older guests sitting in loose robes, eating and talking. On the other side, there was a counter, ostensibly to welcome guests like him but with no one attending it. Instead, all the workers seemed busy with guests. A stout, cheerful woman was serving a table as she talked comfortably with the guests, and a man was crouched tending the fire. Victor smiled, letting his rucksack fall to the floor as he leaned against the counter. He was in no rush, and happy to watch this quiet scene unfold.

The quietness was interrpted, however, when someone burst through the door behind the counter, with a dangerous number of plates and bowls balanced in their arms.

Yuuri, Victor thought, glimpsing the dark hair and warm eyes--but after a few seconds’ consideration, he dismissed the thought. This was a young woman, her hair pulled back with a simple headband. A sister, perhaps.

The young woman startled when she noticed Victor by the counter, but she regained her composure quickly, keeping the plates settled on her arm. “I’ll be there in just a minute!” she shouted in English. Victor smiled and waved her away, happy to watch her continue working for a few minutes.

After dropping off the plates of food, the woman approached Victor, looking him up and down. She looked hesitant, but asked, “Do you speak Japanese?”

That gave Victor pause. He’d long had a vague idea of what mortal form he felt most comfortable in, the mortal cultures and art that he favored, and so he had felt confident that he would have no trouble pretending to be a mortal on this quest of his. But, he realized, there seemed to be a lot of details he hadn’t considered.

Languages were, of course, no issue for him as a god. He could communicate with any mortal without having to think about it, but in a situation like this, that could become a hazard to realistically passing. Still, he figured, his goal would be far harder to achieve with a language barrier at play; he was sure he could come up with a plausible explanation later, so he nodded to the woman, smiling.

“Good, because we don’t speak many languages other than Japanese. I suppose Yuuri’s learned a little from his travelling, but...well, anyway. Are you planning to stay at the inn? Getting here a little late, aren’t you?”

As if possessing an extra sense for her daughter’s disrespect towards potential customers, the stout older woman showed up behind the younger, reprimanding her with, “Mari-kun, don’t be rude!” Mari was hardly offended, and gave a shrug that suggested she hardly considered herself in the wrong.

The older woman turned to Victor, offering him a small bow. “Welcome to Yu-topia Katsuki!” Victor smiled at the name, and bowed back. He was about to introduce himself, when Mari and her mother began talking quietly and rapidly, such that Victor could hardly hear. Suddenly, Hiroko had turned back to Victor, beaming.

“My mother usually has my brother and I handle any foreigners who arrive,” Mari said, turning back to him as well, “Since we sometimes have luck communicating. But she’s happy to hear that you speak Japanese, and she told me to let her deal with you, because apparently I’m too rude for anything but serving food.” She shrugged, ignoring her mother’s disapproving frown, and headed back through the door that presumably lead to the kitchen.

“I am Katsuki Hiroko,” the older woman said once Mari was gone. “My husband Toshiya and I run this onsen with our daughter, who you met. I’m sure you will also meet our son, Yuuri. It is a pleasure to have you with us tonight.”

“Victor Nikiforov, and it is my pleasure to be here.” He kept his sentences short and affected what he hoped was a reasonable Russian accent to his Japanese. Whatever the case, Hiroko seemed pleased, because she took his hand excitedly.

“How many nights would you like to stay? Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat, something special for you. And would you like to visit the onsen? It’s open for a few more hours.”

Victor beamed at her as she excitedly made her offers. “I’m not yet sure how many nights I’d like to stay, but I will happily pay for three nights right now. And thank you for the offer, but I am not hungry now; the food smells divine, but I am quite tired, and will probably sleep soon after I can settle into my room.” He pressed a finger to his lip, thinking. “Actually, I think I would like to spend a few moments in the onsen, if possible.”

Hiroko nodded enthusiastically and lead him down the hall. He was put in a small but tidy room, with a neat yukata and towels folded on the crisply made bed, and lamps flickering warmly from the walls. After he dropped his small bag in the room and dressed in the light robe, she pointed out the dining room that he had seen upon entering, and the doors to the onsen in the back.

“Please enjoy the onsen, Victor—” She stopped, a sad smile appearing on her face. “Vicchan.” She then turned away, and he went into the onsen.

Immediately after disrobing in the changing room, he stepped in. The steam was overwhelming, and there was a slightly sweet smell in the air, too--not sickly sweet, just pleasant, natural. He headed to the pool at the furthest end of the room, where the bubbling hot spring looks the most peaceful. As he dipped in, he couldn’t hold back his pleased sigh as he sunk in further. The water and heat felt fantastic caressing his mortal body, and from the spring’s water and stones, he could feel stirrings of music. This would be something gentle--a sweet flute, perhaps, something to fall asleep to with its rhythmic lull. Already, he felt happier here.

Closing his eyes, though, he thought back to the reason he had come--Yuuri. Where was Yuuri? Victor didn’t want to rush and ruin it all, but at the same time, he booked only three nights for a reason. It was a promise to himself: if, after those three nights, Yuuri didn’t show any interest in working with him, Victor would give up and not look back. It was his concession to Chris, a promise not to become obsessed with someone who didn’t want him. Rejection, he knew, could be hard for him--he found purpose in enriching the lives of mortals, and outright rejection was the most painful response he could get. He knew he needed limits, keeping him from his tendency to overstay his welcome and brush past limits.

He knew what he wanted to say to Yuuri. He’d mulled over the words all day while preparing, then on his walk, and finally as he sat in the onsen. He would tell Yuuri that he had heard one of his performances and was enthralled. He would say that he himself was an accomplished performer, and that he wanted to join with Yuuri in making music, hoping they would inspire one another. He would tell Yuuri that it was up to him, of course, but he thought they could do great things together.

All those plans for what he would tell Yuuri vanished when Yuuri himself appeared.

Yuuri was distracted, and dressed in a plain grey robe. He walked in quickly, glancing around the room before picking up a discarded towel. Victor was the only one in the onsen, but Yuuri didn’t pay him much heed, his gaze sweeping over Victor. Just another customer. Yuuri picked up another few towels, then started to head back out the door.

Victor was frozen. What was he doing? What was he expecting to happen, how could—

He stopped himself. Breathed deeply. Hesitation didn’t suit him, so he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t think, would just—

“Yuuri!”

When Victor called out, Yuuri visibly jumped, snapping his head back around with a startled scream. He seemed about to say something when Victor stood up. Yuuri’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly seemed to be the frozen one.

This suited Victor better. He smiled, reaching out to Yuuri. He’d forgotten all his words and plans, but it didn’t matter. “Katsuki Yuuri, you have immense talent. I want you to play music with me, and together, we’ll make something music beautiful than the world has ever heard.” He smiled, and winked.

Perfect, he thought. He was hardly above base seduction to get what he wanted, and with his mortal form’s well-toned body dripping wet, he knew he must have been entrancing.

Perhaps Yuuri would still have some questions. Perhaps he’d still have doubts, would want to know more about Victor--but Victor was absolutely certain that he could expect Yuuri to join him, soon.

Victor absolutely did not expect what happened next: Yuuri screamed, dropped the towels in his arms, and ran out the door.


End file.
